Anew: Book Two: Hunted

by Litton, Josie

  I hadn’t meant for that to happen in the elevator. I’d just intended to tease her but seeing her come in the alley shot my self-control to hell. Even now, it’s all I can do to wait until I’m satisfied that she’s eaten enough before I push my chair back and hold out my hand.

  “Come.”

  Her gaze narrows. She looks as though she’s trying to decide whether or not to indulge me. Not quite what I’m going for. What I want is her obedience but I’ll settle for what I can get--for the moment.

  She stands, gathering the lace robe around her and puts her hand in mine. At her touch, a spurt of raw possessiveness burns through me. I pull her closer and draw her out onto the balcony.

  It’s well past midnight but Carnival is only getting started. Crowds are in the streets--dancing, singing, fucking, whatever. We’re too high up to make out the details, which is just as well. As shocked as Amelia was earlier, I can’t imagine how she’d react now that the serious debauchery is underway.

  Speaking of--

  I put her in front of me so that she’s pressed against the wrought iron balcony railing with her back against my chest. With one hand, I clasp her hip, holding her in place. With the other, I reach around and undo the belt of her robe. As it falls open, she stiffens and turns her head to look at me.

  “Relax,” I tell her. No one can see us.” I had the foresight to close the balcony doors behind us, blocking out the light from the black crystal chandelier. We’re standing in shadows but with a clear view of the building on the other side of the street.

  The floor-to-ceiling windows of an apartment directly opposite us are lit up, providing a clear view of the party that’s going on inside. It’s almost like watching a holo-vid except it’s real. An orgy is underway with all the usual variety available at any such event. Front and center, framed by one of the largest windows, a woman is servicing two men. An appreciative audience has gathered around them, cheering and urging them on.

  Amelia’s quick inhalation of breath turns into a shocked gasp when I lift the hem of her robe and stroke a hand between her thighs, finding her soft, wet cleft.

  “Something bothering you, sweetheart?” I ask innocently.

  The woman across the way is writhing as though she’s loving it but I suspect that it’s more a case of her being a good actress. A worker, probably, hoping to move up by acquiring the right patron. It’s happened more than anyone wants to admit. Half or more of the elite families in the city count such women in their genealogy. High end escorts, courtesans, mistresses, whatever the politically correct term is. I prefer to think of them as ladies with initiative, able to bend a corrupt system to their own ends.

  I include my father’s forbearers in that. We Slades are a handsome bunch thanks in large measure to women who made a living with their bodies before becoming doyennes of the Junior League and the country club.

  “You wanted me to see this, didn’t you?” Amelia says. Her voice is soft and feathery, due in no small part to the finger I’ve eased into her cunt, stroking her inner walls.

  “See what, sweetheart?”

  She shakes her head impatiently. “You know perfectly well what. Across the street.”

  I laugh and add another finger. She’s so wet and hot, absolutely perfect. My cock is rock hard under the towel still wrapped around my hips. It’s raring to go. But not quite yet. First, I want her overwhelmed with need, too far gone to resist what I’ll demand from her when we go back inside.

  “That woman…those men--” She lets out a moan and clenches around me.

  “What are they doing, baby? Tell me.”

  “They’re…using her.”

  Now that’s interesting and more than a little gratifying. She’s aroused, her body can’t hide that. But at the same time, she clearly disapproves of the impersonal, objectified fucking that she’s witnessing.

  “The lady had plenty of options tonight if she wanted them,” I say, shrugging. “She knew what she was signing up for. But that kind of scene definitely isn’t for everyone.” Bending closer, I suck the lobe of her ear into my mouth and bite just hard enough to wring a soft yelp from her. “You, for instance,” I say as I remove my fingers and toss the towel aside. A moment later, the head of my cock is pressing into her, just the first inch or so.

  “Ian--” She’s breathing hard, leaning back to take more of me. The lips of her sex are warm and wet, clasping me.

  A powerful tremor runs up my spine. Harshly, I say, “You’re mine, Amelia. Admit it. I’m the only man you want fucking you.”

  I’m taking a chance. Her ability to say ‘no’ to me is essential to our relationship. Without that evidence of her own free will, I wouldn’t be able to touch her and still live with myself. But at the same time, I want her to admit who owns her. Screwed up, I know, but that’s how it is.

  She’s silent long enough for my heart to constrict. Finally, after what seems like forever, her head droops, exposing the vulnerable back of her neck below her upswept hair. I have the sudden sense that she’s trembling on the brink of telling me something. But when she speaks, she says only, “You are, Ian. The only man for me.”

  It’s enough. Her honesty is more than I deserve but exactly what I need. Driven by it, I surge into her, bending her forward over the railing and thrusting into her. Across the street, the orgy is reaching its peak but it’s got nothing on us. Amelia’s urgent cries spur me onward. I want to be deeper in her than I’ve ever been, possessing her utterly. I want her to feel me in every cell of her being. To recognize me as the other part of herself, the only man she can ever belong to.

  The city and the night throb with carnal energy but I’m hardly aware of it any more. Only Amelia exists, only she matters. Nothing in my life has equipped me to deal with the emotions she unleashes. But at the same time she makes me feel more complete than I would ever have thought possible.

  We come together in an explosive release that rocks me to the core. It’s all I can do to hold onto her as I spurt again and again into her sweet, welcoming body. My satisfaction is savage and primal if far from complete. If it takes all night, I want her overflowing with my come, marked by my scent, mine irrevocably and forever.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Amelia

  A heavy languor weighs my limbs as Ian carries me back into the suite. By all rights, I should be exhausted yet incredibly my body is still aroused. I can’t help but wonder what is happening to me. With all that Ian and I have shared in the past, I’ve never been this insatiable.

  Tonight, for the first time, I find the power he has over me frightening. I’ve become lost in him so easily, slave to the forces he unleashes. Even in the grip of ecstasy, I can’t think of anything other than pleasing him.

  He’s doing this to me deliberately. I’m certain of that but I don’t know why. Has he set out to prove his dominance and my own willingness to submit? Or is something else driving him? How does Davos and the Council meeting fit into all of this, as I’m sure it does? What has happened to banish his concerns and strip him of all restraint?

  I can only wonder, especially about the latter, as with quick, long strides, he takes me directly into the bedroom. It’s in the same opulent style as the antechamber, the walls covered in burgundy silk that glows warmly in the light cast by crystal chandeliers suspended from the coffered ceiling. The bed itself is massive, framed in dark mahogany with a box canopy in which lengths of tufted gold silk have been woven. At its foot is a red velvet settee. Ian sits down there, holding me on his lap. He strokes me gently through the black lace robe that still hangs open. His touch is light, tantalizing, and unmistakably proprietary.

  “Are you all right, baby?” he asks softly.

  My head is tucked against his shoulder, my knees bent and my legs drawn up. I’m surrounded by his strength, protected and cherished. It would be so easy to succumb to that but for the growing need I feel to right the balance between us. So far, the initiative has been entirely his. It’s time for that to change.<
br />
  I straighten and lightly brush my lips along the curve of his jaw. “Truthfully, I’m a little overwhelmed at the moment. This is turning out to be quite a night.”

  “It’s Carnival,” he says with a grin. “Anything goes.”

  “Really, anything?”

  “Absolutely, sweetheart, no limits.”

  I struggle to repress a smile. “Well, in that case--” Taking him by surprise, I slip from his lap to the floor covered by a thick Aubusson carpet and sit back on my heels. Naked, sprawled on the settee, Ian is a glorious sight. Even after the climax we shared on the balcony, his cock is semi-erect. The man’s stamina is truly impressive.

  I wiggle closer and put my hands on his knees, urging them further apart. He tenses and stares at me, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with the smoke of barely banked fires.

  “Amelia…?”

  “Anything goes,” I remind him. “Isn’t that what you said?”

  Before he can reply, I move between his legs, lower my head, and stroke the tip of my tongue around the velvety smooth crest of his cock. He tastes delicious, a combination of my own juices and the traces of his come. Immediately, I want more. Feeling very daring, I suck the first few inches of him into my mouth. Within moments, he’s swelling, becoming longer and thicker. Gratified, I suck harder, taking more of him. My tongue finds the sensitive ridge under his crest and flicks back and forth.

  Ian gives a muffled curse and drives his hands into my hair. He holds my head still and lifts his hips, thrusting deeper into my mouth so that his cock brushes the back of my throat. As he pulls out, he says, “Is this what you want, baby, me inside you like this?” As though in emphasis, he thrusts again, even deeper this time. For a moment, I can’t breathe. The sensation is at once terrifying and darkly arousing. A part of me that I don’t want to acknowledge responds to that. But another, and at least for the moment larger part, rebels.

  Carefully but deliberately, I let him feel my teeth. He stills at once, smart man that he is. A low, reluctant laugh breaks from him. “We could be at an impasse here, sweetheart,” he says.

  I let him go, rock back on my heels, and smile at him. “I hope not. You taste delicious.”

  His gaze narrows. He looks at me speculatively. “And you want more?”

  “I do, yes.”

  “Good, so do I, but we do it my way.” When I frown, he laughs. “Trust me, if you want this, you’ll like what I have in mind even more.”

  I’m intrigued. Whatever can he mean?

  Ian stands, drawing me up with him. Bending slightly, he tucks an arm under my knees, lifts me, and carries me over to the bed. Before he lays me down, he strips off the counterpane, tossing it onto the floor. The sheets are a dark burgundy red, cool and smooth against my heated skin.

  To my surprise, he positions me across the width rather than the length of the bed so that my head hangs over the edge, both resting in and supported by the palm of his hand. I’m not uncomfortable, just startled.

  “Remember you wanted this,” he says in the moment before he nudges the smooth, hot tip of his cock against my mouth. “And we can stop at any time.” His voice reverberates in me.

  My lips part. He slips into over my tongue and deeper. In this position, he has a straight path down my throat. As though in answer to my yearning, he says, “Take me, sweetheart. All of me.”

  I obey without hesitation. Above me, his face is taut with need, his hips pistoning as he moves into me slowly and carefully. A combination of multiple orgasms, more champagne than I’ve ever had before, and the effect of Ian himself leaves me utterly relaxed.

  Instinctively, I feel a need to swallow. As the muscles of my throat begin to ripple around him, he grunts with pleasure. “Good, so fucking good.”

  He strokes a hand down my body to the apex of my thighs, parts the lips of my sex, and teases my swollen clit with his thumb. A white-hot frenzy ignites in me. My muscles contract, squeezing him even as he keeps up his delicious torment. Pleasuring Ian as I am, even as he plays my body so expertly, sends all my senses into a swift upward spiral toward release. I can’t hold back, can’t deny him anything… The orgasm that hits me is sudden and remorseless.

  As it seizes me, Ian cries out, shouting my name as he comes in thick, hot spurts jetting down my throat. I clench around him, holding him a prisoner to my own desires and take all he gives. Above me, I see him, his head thrown back, eyes closed in ecstasy, as the climax I’ve brought him to rocks him to the core.

  My body sags. I am suddenly, overwhelmingly exhausted. Dimly, I’m aware of Ian withdrawing. With care, he straightens me on the bed and joins me there. My last thought before sleep claims me is that I don’t know whether to be more delighted or afraid of what has changed in him.

  I wake some unknown time later. It’s still fully dark, or at least as dark as it ever is in the city. I miss the stars so visible at the palazzo. Dimly, I think that perhaps Ian and I should return there but I won’t go without him and I know that he won’t leave the city until Davos is no longer a danger.

  The curtains are open across the tall bedroom windows. I can see the apartment on the other side of the street. The orgy has wound down, only a few bodies visible where they lie slumped and asleep. Music still plays in the distance but it’s much quieter than it was.

  Slipping from the bed, I turn to look at Ian. Asleep, he looks younger and disarmingly innocent. I can’t begin to put that together with the man I’ve experienced over the past few hours. Instead of trying, I find the bathroom and consider taking a shower but the effort is beyond me. With a start I realize that I’m still wearing the black lace robe. It hangs open, revealing my painfully hard nipples and bare, swollen slit.

  I clean up, then belt the rope around me and go back into the bedroom. Ian is still asleep. For a few moments, I stand beside the bed, trying to decide what to do. I’m so precariously balanced on the edge between exhaustion and arousal that I doubt I will be able to go back to sleep. But neither do I have the strength to do much of anything else.

  Finally, I sit down on the soft carpet with my back against the settee and stare off into space, struggling to make sense of what has happened. For the first time, I notice the full length mirror in a curved wooden frame opposite me but I avert my eyes from it. I don’t need to see again how unraveled he has made me.

  In that dark hour of the night with my calm, reasoned self hanging by a thread, my thoughts drift to Susannah. I’m not like her, to be handled like spun glass, nor would I want to be. She was strong in her own way but I’m stronger still, just as she intended. Yet I can’t help the pain that twists through me at the thought of how gently Ian treated her. She brought out the noblest and most honorable aspects of his nature whereas I--

  I don’t really know what I am to him. At the beach house, he was open, honest, sharing more of himself than he ever has before. But tonight… Tonight he has simply overwhelmed me.

  Unraveling as I am, it’s perhaps no surprise that a tear slips down my cheek, followed swiftly by another. I brush them away impatiently. I’m as much a party to everything that has happened between us as he is. If I feel confused and dazed by the results, that’s for me to deal with. I know what it is to be truly helpless. I am not now nor do I ever intend to be that way again.

  Even so, I haven’t moved when, a short time later, Ian awakes as though drawn by some sense of the clamor in my mind. As soon as he sees me, he leaves the bed and comes over to me. Bending down, he takes my chin in his hand and compels me to meet his gaze.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  I shrug. “Nothing, I just can’t sleep.”

  A wry smile plays across his mouth. “So much for my manly prowess.”

  I give a small, hiccupping laugh. “Don’t blame yourself. I’m sure you did your best.”

  He winces. “Talk about damning with faint praise.” His long finger strokes my jaw. “Seriously, are you okay?”

  “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
r />   A flicker of something--regret, concern?--darts behind his eyes. “I’ve pushed you hard.”

  “You haven’t done anything that I haven’t let you do. And enjoyed.”

  My honesty takes him by surprise. For a moment, he looks uncertain but that vanishes as he says, “That’s good because I’m not done yet.”

  Oh….

  “Let me guess,” he says as he sits down beside me, his long legs stretched out in front of him, our bare thighs brushing. I glimpse us in the mirror and am startled by how right we look together, at once comfortable and intimate.

  “You’ve got a thousand thoughts ricocheting around in your head,” he says, “and you can’t make sense of any of them. You’re confused, ragged, and all you want is to let go, blank it all out, and just feel.”

  I stare at him in amazement. “How can you possibly know that?”

  He runs a hand over his face shadowed by soft stubble and says, “Because I feel the same way, baby. I don’t know what’s happening to me…to us but I do know that when I’m balls deep inside you, nothing else matters. You’re the calm at the center of my universe. The one place where I really belong.”

  My mouth drops open. We’re surrounded by the heat and smell of raw, unbridled sex. His language is crude, his handling of me even more so. And yet--

  I can’t help it, I laugh. At the sound, he raises a brow. “What?”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, trying to stop but not quite succeeding. “There’s got to be something wrong with me. I think what you just said is romantic.”

  He stares at me for a moment before giving me a smile that steals what little breath I have left. “What did I tell you, baby? We’re perfect together.”

  He slips a hand under my robe and strokes my back in a gesture that, especially for the circumstances, is oddly soothing. His eyes gleam with the sheen of gold as he says, “I want to strip you bare, no defenses, no limits, nothing between us except exactly who we are.”

  The thought is daunting. As new as I am to the world, I know that true intimacy is exceedingly rare. Everyone wears masks. We reveal ourselves only in guises suitable to the ever-shifting circumstances. Even when we look in the mirror, we see not our real self but a mere reflection of what we show to the world.